The night was almost silent, broken only by the occasional crack of a dying campfire and the distant rustle of the forest. Lyra moved carefully along the shadows, her breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. She had sought Lissa out, following the faint glow of lamplight from the weapons clearing.
Lissa stood alone under the skeletal limbs of a tree, two swords gleaming faintly in the ember-light. Even in the dimness, Lyra could see how every line of Lissa's body was poised, controlled, every movement measured. A bastard-born vampire, Lissa lacked the raw power and strength of true-blooded vampires or hybrid beasts, but what she had instead was precision, speed, and an intelligence that made her deadly. She was the undisputed weapons master of the camp, and everyone who had crossed blades with her, willingly or not, had learned the hard way that her skill alone could kill.
Lissa noticed Lyra hesitating at the edge of the clearing and raised an eyebrow. "You're late," she said, voice calm, almost bored, but there was a sharp edge underneath. "And from the look on your face… you know why you're here."
Lyra swallowed, tightening her grip on the wooden practice sword she had picked up from the camp. "I… I want to learn," she said quietly. "I can't rely on… whatever's supposed to happen with my magic. I need to be able to defend myself."
Lissa studied her for a long moment, amber eyes flicking over Lyra's tense shoulders and trembling hands. Then she nodded once. "Fine. But don't expect miracles. You're human. You'll never match the strength or speed of a vampire or hybrid, but brains and technique can take you far. I'll teach you how to survive."
She moved with smooth efficiency, drawing a single sword from her back and flipping it in a practiced motion that caught the firelight. The steel sang as it cut the air, and Lyra felt a pang of awe. Lissa's precision was hypnotic; every movement seemed effortless, every stance perfect.
"Watch," Lissa said, stepping into a defensive posture. "Everything you do is a combination of leverage, timing, and anticipation. Strength without control gets you killed. Now, try to follow me."
Lyra raised her wooden sword, attempting to mimic Lissa's stance, knees bent, weight balanced. She swung at a straw dummy, missing entirely and nearly toppling backward. The wooden sword thudded against the dirt as she scrambled to regain her footing.
"You're slow, sloppy, and predictable," Lissa said calmly, walking around her. "But that's why you're here. Fix it. Focus. Every movement should have purpose. Every stance should cover your weaknesses."
Hours passed under the moonless sky. The fire was almost gone, leaving only glowing embers that threw long, trembling shadows across the clearing. Lyra stumbled, sweat and dirt streaking her face, arms trembling from repeated strikes and corrections. Every time she fell or swung wrong, Lissa corrected her without raising her voice, demonstrating the same moves again and again, fluid and controlled, until Lyra could see, even in her exhaustion, the logic behind every step.
At the edge of the clearing, Liam's presence became apparent as he stepped into the ember-light, muscles tensing at every motion. His hybrid blood had healed the deep cut that left his arm almost severred from the wolf attack to a significant extent. That was the thing with hybrid healing. It was faster. A faint cut pink against his otherwise flawless skin remained but he was not relaxed.
"Lissa," he said, voice low but tense, "stop being reckless. She's human. If you push her too far, one mistake and" He gestured sharply. "She's dead before she even learns."
Lissa didn't flinch. "She can survive this. I'm teaching her to use her brain. And if you had eyes instead of worry, you'd see she's capable."
Liam's eyes flicked to Lyra, and for the first time, her chest tightened with a mix of fear and determination. She wasn't strong. She wasn't fast. But she had come here of her own choice, seeking Lissa's guidance. And tonight, under the cold pre-dawn sky, that choice felt like the first step toward something she hadn't dared to imagine. The pure bloods in the camp had to go seek refuge soon, it was almost sunrise.
From the darkness beyond the clearing, a faint, deliberate howl echoed through the trees singular, measured, almost as if it were observing. Lyra felt it shiver along her spine. The forest was quiet again, but not safe. Something was watching, waiting. And she knew that whatever came next, she would have to be ready. Her singular strand of silver hair glowed in the moonlight.